out, damned spot
by ipsa dixit
Summary: ginny's hands are stained red/trigger warning for anxiety/depression after a war


_trigger warning for anxiety/depression after a war_

 _thank you so much to ana and ck for betaing!_

 _prompts at the bottom_

 _2041 word, by gdocs_

* * *

Blood is stained onto Ginny's hands, but no matter how much water she splashes onto them, they won't _become clean_. She rubs them together again, hoping the clear water will turn crimson, wiping away the blood.

It doesn't.

Blinking, Ginny looks up into the mirror. She looks awful, which is understandable – she hasn't slept properly in weeks. Probably since before the war even started. There hasn't been time to sleep properly. She hasn't felt _safe_ enough.

There are bags under her eyes that give her the appearance of a raccoon. The thought makes her want to laugh, just _laugh_ , because her brain is processing everything as funny. Her hair is also a mess, tangles everywhere. She should brush it. She has a date with Harry tomorrow.

Ginny brings her hands up, about to rub her eyes, but brings them back down immediately – the scarlet blood still stains them.

Instead, she pushes them under the sink again, even though they're already wrinkly.

Why won't the blood _scrub off_?

…

Ginny is many things, but she doesn't stand people up, so the next day she manages to drag herself out of bed, brush her hair, put on fresh clothes, and actually go to meet Harry.

Her mother hugs her on the way out of the door, and it's solemn – as if it'll be the last time they'll ever meet. Ginny tries not to think about it as she pushes her mother away and tucks away her mother's request to say hi to Harry.

Ginny notes that George is out of his room – he's sitting at the kitchen table as she passes. That's good, right? Ginny knows that she should probably say something to him – he's probably – definitely – grieving more than any of them.

She doesn't say anything, though. She doesn't know what she would say.

As soon as Ginny steps outside, the sunlight hits her skin and she looks down at her hands – and immediately pushes them into the pockets of her jeans.

Red still sticks to her skin, making her usually pale skin dark. She can't stand to look at them.

Oh, Merlin – what if Harry sees her hands? He'll hate her. She hates them herself. Who _won't_ hate someone with blood _staining their hands_? This'll be one hell of a date, with her trying to hide her hands from Harry the entire time.

Harry has invited her to a little coffee shop, just simply to catch up. It should be good, Ginny thinks as she walks in – if she can keep her red hands from him.

Harry hugs her in greeting, but she can't bring herself to withdraw her hands and hug him back. Besides, it's nice to have him smother her.

Harry asks her if she's fine, but the words don't hit her for a moment. When she realises what he said, she nods and tells him that she's just tired. The words fall from her mouth like it's second nature.

He motions to the coffee around them and she forces a laugh. It's not funny.

They get in line and by the time they reach the front, Ginny has clenched and unclenched her hands in her pockets a hundred times. They're starting to sweat now, but she _can't_ let Harry see how _tainted_ she is. She keeps them in her pocket and tells the barista that she'll have whatever Harry's having. She hates the sound of it, but she doesn't have the energy to think about what she'll actually like.

Harry starts talking to her as he grabs both of their coffees and they go to sit down. She lets his words go right through her, not paying attention to what he's saying and trying to stop her hands from shaking.

 _He can't see them_ , she tries to remind herself. Merlin, what will Harry even say if he finds out that her hands are _stained with blood_? He'll hate her. She knows that she'd hate herself.

Ginny should try and wash them more, right? She stands up in the middle of Harry saying a sentence. He looks at her questioningly and she says that she has to use the bathroom.

Hurrying to the little bathroom in the back, she looks around before taking one of her hands out and wrenching open the door and locking herself in.

Ginny takes her other hand of her jean's pocket and looks at them both. They're both visibly shaking and – just as she feared – stained red. Moving stiffly, Ginny makes her way to the sink and opens it, shoving her hands underneath it.

 _Why won't it come off_?

She scrubs her hands together, lathering the coffee shop's cheap soap onto it, and they _still remain red_.

Her lungs feel constricted, as if they can't get enough oxygen. She needs to _get out_. Get out of this bathroom, get out of this coffee shop, get out of this city, and just _get out_.

She exits the bathroom and makes her way back to Harry, her hands back in her pocket. She's not going to leave him. She wonders if he can tell that she's shaking. From her head to her toes, she can feel herself trembling, the image of her red stained hands imprinted on the back of her eyelids.

Harry asks her if she's okay, once again, and she bursts into tears. She can't help it – they just come, flowing out of her. She can't stop them. A part of her inside folds up on herself because she's _crying in public_ , but more of her is remembering how her hands look, as if she stuck her hands into someone's gut and the blood stayed.

Tears on her cheeks, Ginny brings out her hands and show them to Harry, who frowns. He must be disgusted with her and her bloody hands. He asks her what's wrong and she tells him that her hands are stained red with _blood_.

Harry continues to frown and says, "They're not red."

Ginny can hear his words loud and clear, and it's only now that she realises that everything up to now seemed muted. It's as if she's been walking in a haze and Harry just broke it with one sentence.

Except – looking down at her hands, they're _still_ red. Harry's lying to her, but why?

"I can't –" Ginny says, trying to stop the tears. She rubs her hands together trying to get the red off, somehow.

"Gin," Harry says, his voice soft. "Let's go home." He offers her his hand, but she can't bring herself to take it. She shakes her head slowly, closing her eyes, and he grabs onto her arm instead and whisks them away.

…

Harry pulls them into the bathroom as soon as they get into the Burrow. The Apparition has caused Ginny to stop crying – thank Merlin – so she just looks up at Harry with contempt.

"I'm fine," she breathes at him, stuffing her hands back in her pockets.

"Obviously not," he says, squinting at her. He's a few inches taller than her, so he's looking down at her and they're very close together – the bathroom isn't the best meeting spot. "Let me see your hands."

Ginny shakes her head slowly. Why'd Harry even bring her in here? She's tainted with blood, she gets it. She doesn't need Harry to shame her.

"Gin," he says, cocking his head. "I just want to look at them."

Harry's jaw is set and Ginny can tell that she's not going to get out of this easily. Harry's so stubborn sometimes that he could have been a Weasley.

Ginny, on the other hand, _is_ a Weasley. She knows stubbornness.

"No," she says, clenching her hands in the safety of her pockets. She blinks and can see hands, stained crimson. She forces her eyes open.

"Why do you think they're red with blood?" he asks. Ginny can hear a quiver in his voice and she almost takes relish in the fact that he's scared – _of her_. Maybe he should be.

"Because they _are_ ," Ginny says. She takes out her hands and shows her crimson palms. There's red in her fingernails and she cringes at the fact that those will be a pain to clean. To be fair, the rest of her hands are being a pain to clean too. Harry looks at her hands in disbelief, but doesn't deny it.

"How long have they been stained?" he asks, looking hard at Ginny's hands instead of meeting her gaze.

"Since the war," Ginny answers. She still remembers every moment of the war. She remembers shooting a spell at a Death Eater and knocking them back so hard that they hit their head on the wall and –

Ginny can remember the blood flowing from that Death Eater's head.

She killed him.

And now her hands are stained with his blood.

Harry has his lips pursed, his eyes closed, and his eyebrows raised, as if he's figuring something out.

"How are you dealing with the war?" Harry asks, opening his eyes. They're full of concern. Ginny doesn't need his pity.

And then Ginny considers his question.

"What do you mean 'dealing with the war'?" she asks. She doesn't really know what he's talking about.

"I mean that the war was a lot for all of us and we're young. We can't just pretend we're fine if we're not," Harry says. His face drops for a moment and he looks so very _tired_ for a second before taking a deep breath and looking more awake. Ginny's pretty sure it's an act. No, she's _sure_ it's an act, which sobers her a little bit.

Harry's dealing with the war still, too.

Ginny looks down at her hands and rubs them together, her brain racing. Is this just some cruel after effect of the war? Is the red just part of her mind? That sounds like something out of one of those Muggle movies she learned about in Muggle Studies.

"But I _am_ fine," Ginny says instead, shooting Harry a glare. She knows that it's an utter lie. There's something pressing down on her chest as she says it. "How are _you_ dealing with the war?" she asks, trying to get the topic off of her.

Harry looks as if he's biting his tongue hard before answering.

"I go to a Muggle therapist," he says, looking as if he swallowed something sour. "He doesn't understand everything, of course, but he's able to listen. It makes all the difference."

"A Muggle therapist?" Ginny asks. She racks her brain for some mention of that in one of her Muggle Studies class, but she comes up blank.

"Until the Wizarding World gets better at mental health," Harry says, "I'm going to Muggle one, yeah."

"What is a therapist?" Ginny asks. She feels stupid that she doesn't know this, but she pushes down that feeling – Harry _was_ raised in the Muggle world.

"Someone who's able to listen to your problems and help you through them," he answers, although he looks confused. Ginny snorts.

"What, something stupid like yoga?" She can remember Professor Burbage showing them what yoga was. Of course the class wanted to try it themselves, and Ginny _hated_ it. She thinks it's utterly stupid, but Professor Burbage told them that plenty of Muggles use it for relaxing.

"No. Like medicating you because war traumatises you and medicine can fix that. Fix it for a long time."

Ginny squints at him.

"And why can't I just use a _spell_ to fix… whatever?"

"Feel free to invent a spell," Harry says, letting out a laugh. "But until then –" Harry takes her wrists and raises them so Ginny's bloody hands are eye-level with them. "What are you going to do about this? Because this isn't _fine_. Yes, the past can hurt but, the way I see it you can either run from it, or learn from it."

Ginny bites her lips. She doesn't like the idea of going to a random person and spilling her feelings. At the same time, though, she wants her hands to be _clean_.

"Who's your therapist?"

…

Over time, the blood fades.

* * *

 _for:_

 _the houses competition [gryffindor, year 7, themed - sadness]_

 _assignment 11 [notable witches and wizards, task 10 - write about someone unstable]_

 _cocktails [onion (2)]_

 _photography month [candid]_

 _scavenger hunt [8]_

 _writing club [char app - 30; disney - rafiki; showtime - who am i; lyric alley - 5; ee - women warriors; gameroom - mario]_


End file.
